


sweet divide, a heavy truth

by LadyAlice101



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon Divergent, F/M, I mean it's a Dany pov so she's very aware of it, but it's pol!jon, cheating ?, jonerice, kind of, set in 8x04, with a couple big difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22401544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAlice101/pseuds/LadyAlice101
Summary: It had been all too easy to believe Tyrion when he’d said that Jon and Sansa don’t get along. That they perhaps even despised each other.That she should heed his warning that Dany’s party might even be faced with an ongoing power struggle when walking into Winterfell.Dany had not taken that last as seriously as she should have. But Tyrion had still been wrong – oh, so wrong. No, it had not been a power struggle between Jon and Sansa that she’d followed Jon back to, even if she is only now realising.//Dany wanders away from the victory feast following the Long Night.She stumbles across two wolves in the godswood.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 65
Kudos: 397





	sweet divide, a heavy truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sansa_Stark789](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansa_Stark789/gifts), [charmtion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmtion/gifts), [israfel00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/israfel00/gifts).



> Mostly following the beginning of s8, with a few major differences: political jon. obviously. jon did NOT tell Dany his parentage in 8x02, but DID tell Sansa. 
> 
> For Sansa_Stark789, who initially asked me for this. 
> 
> For Charmtion, who very humbly encouraged me in the comments of their ~own fic~. (Which is [To Be Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697654), and which is much better than this, and which you should 100% read. but after this one, bc if you read theirs first and then mine you'll probs be disappointed with mine hahaha.)
> 
> And for Israfel00, who brainstormed with me.

It had been all too easy to believe Tyrion when he’d said that Jon and Sansa don’t get along. That they perhaps even despised each other.

That she should heed his warning that Dany’s party might even be faced with an ongoing power struggle when walking into Winterfell.

Dany had not taken that last as seriously as she should have. But Tyrion had still been wrong – oh, so wrong. No, it had not been a power struggle between Jon and Sansa that she’d followed Jon back to, even if she is only now realising.

Dany has not been taken for a fool in a long time, and resents being taken for one now.

When the Long Night is over, when it is Dany and her dragons that brought salvation, after they have burnt their many dead and she has mourned her closest advisor, they feast.

Dany is not so much in the mood for a feast, in all honesty. She loves the revelry of it all, of championing her victory, and certainly these dour Northerners have not taken so warmly to her as she’d expected – despite Jon’s gentle warnings that this would be the case – and so she needs to remind them just who it was that came to save them; but Jorah has just died. Dany doesn’t understand how they can spend only one day resting, and then celebrate.

As if they even _did_ anything. It is _her_ dragons that paid the price; _her_ Dothraki, _her_ Unsullied. The Northerners hid inside the castle walls. _Her_ armies held the line, with no help from these people who so desperately asked for aid.

No, they have no reason to congratulate themselves, and she thinks it’s rather insulting that they would claim this victory and then schedule this feast in their own time.

She wasn’t even asked if she felt this was an appropriate time, and she’s their _queen._

Not that she’s ever really been one for _party_ organisations; such meaningless and simple tasks are not for her to dabble in. Such things are best left to women who are only pretending at power.

Dany has heard that it’s Sansa Stark who has taken tonight’s revelries into her realm of responsibilities. That’s fair, Dany supposes, because she’s not seen Lady Stark really do much. Dany hardly see’s much of her at all, really.

In any case, Dany knows just who she’ll have a quiet quip for tonight. If Lady Stark has organised this, then it is her responsibility to apprise Dany and get her consent on the timing.

Dany would most certainly have said _no_ to this being held tonight. As it stands, she wasn’t asked, she’s given no consent, and it’s something that’s only added to a long list of things she’s come to despite about the red-haired woman.

Another is her apparent dislike of her half-brother. Tyrion had warned Dany thoroughly about the nature of Jon and Sansa’s relationship when they were children. While he’d also admitted he knows nothing of how they get on now, he’d said that they interacted very little in their youth, and any interactions they _did_ have were antagonistic in nature.

After seeing the cold way Lady Stark has treated Jon since he rode into Winterfell, his rightful queen at his back, Dany had no trouble believing that their relationship has only deteriorated since they’d been reunited, not improved.

In hushed tones, Tyrion had also admitted that, while smart and mostly outgrown of her girlhood dreams, Sansa as a child had coveted nothing more than the Iron Throne. Dany understands that desire, that need to be control. She’s self-aware enough to know that being queen is consolation enough for what’s been done to her. But Dany will not tolerate Lady Stark’s attempts to undermine her, or worse, usurp her; whether that be for Dany’s own crown or Jon’s former one. Dany has already admitted the North back into her fold with her diplomacy, and she’s not sure she has the patience to treat with Lady Stark over the issue.

It’s been put to rest already. The North is _hers._

The mood at the feast is sombre, and for all Dany was irritated with the idea of holding it today, the fact that these people can’t even scrape together an ounce of gratitude, of worship, irritates her even more.

Jon’s chair is pulled so far into the table that his back is practically to Dany, though Dany understands why. His sister sits the other side of him, her spine straight and her fingers wrapped like a band around her chair’s arm. Her other hand is loosely holding a cup of wine – or perhaps ale, Dany hasn’t taken one single sip of whatever drink is being so freely passed around – as she gazes out over the hall.

Lady Stark’s eyes are as warm as Dany as ever seen them as she looks out over her brethren. If Dany is being completely and totally honest with herself, Lady Sansa has unnerved her. Not scared her, of course, because she is Daenerys Targaryen and she has nothing to be scared of; but there is something to the hardness of Sansa’s gaze that speaks to stone.

Dragonfire can’t melt stone.

With eyes as blue as the rivers Daenerys has flown over, and a pink to her cheeks from the warmth in the room and likely too the alcohol she’s periodically sipping at, Sansa Stark looks almost . . . kind. And in her kindness is something beautiful, something breathtaking, something that makes Dany unable to tear her eyes from her. Dany is unused to vying for men’s attention, for having any competition to the title of being most beautiful in the room, but to see Sansa Stark now makes something white hot burn in Dany’s belly.

And in that gorgeous blue dress . . .

Dany turns her head from Jon’s sister, her chin lifting in the process. Sansa Stark may be a beauty, but by all accounts she’s a cold hearted bitch; a wolf that takes no compunction in baring her teeth, and is too detached from the people around her to have any meaningful relationships.

Beauty usually only runs skin deep, Dany has found.

When Missandei excuses herself from the feast to spend time with Grey Worm, Dany suddenly finds herself much less compelled to stay; even if the mood in the room has lifted considerably. She’s given a speech, she’s accepted the good graces the Northerners should have given her long ago, but now the wine or ale is flowing a bit too freely.

The people have closed off into groups that Dany has had no chance to become part of, not with the preparations for war, and she need only hear that big, brash, red-headed man brag about Jon’s accomplishments – _Dany’s_ accomplishments – for her teeth to be set on edge. Followed by Lady Stark’s enthusiastic, “Go on, I believe in you,” directed to her brother, and suddenly Dany feels a little sick.

She excuses herself, even though no one is paying their queen enough attention to stand when she stands – an affront she’ll address tomorrow, because clearly these people have been living without their courtesies for too long – and goes to her chambers.

They’re even colder and lonelier than the Hall, truthfully. Dany calls in a stray handmaiden to fix her fire, and humbly ignores the young girl’s huff, and after the girl has left, Dany sits in front of her fire and stares into the flames.

The lick of yellows and oranges and blues usually gives her such a sense of peace, of power, but tonight Dany can see nothing but the blue of Sansa’s dress, the orange of her hair, and she pushes away from her hearth with an angry scowl.

She misses Jorah. He’d give her the right advice on what to do, about Sansa, about her ire for her brother and her clear intent to take his position, if not place a crown on her own head.

But Jorah isn’t here.

She needs to see Jon.

Dany’s feet take her quickly and easily from her room’s and to Jon’s. She’s been in here several times since arriving at Winterfell, though she’s yet to join him in bed again. He’s usually quick to give her a tender kiss, but it never goes past that. He always claims to be too tired, too busy, what with the war quickly approaching. But the war is over now. Dany see’s no reason as to why he would deny her touch tonight.

But Jon isn’t there. He must still be at the feast.

 _No matter,_ she thinks. As soon as she whispers in his ear her desires, he’s sure to follow her like one of the dogs that adorn the Stark sigil. Compliance is in his blood, as it is in all dogs’. He simply needs someone to . . . guide him.

When Dany gets to the Hall, however, she can’t spot him. She hadn’t passed him on her way down, so she thinks he must have gone outside, perhaps for some peace and quiet. He does so enjoy being alone to brood, she thinks fondly.

Once she’s out in the courtyard, Dany pauses. The chill hits her with a blast, and she shivers. She’s not used to this cold. Frankly, she’s never been so cold in her life. She’d never even seen snow before coming North. It had been beautiful her first time, but she just finds it frightfully inconvenient now. It’s wet, and cold, and it gets everywhere.

And it’s not anywhere near as beautiful as people claim it is. She can’t see the appeal. Dany much prefers the view from atop her temple, in Meereen, overlooking the city and the harbour. _Where it’s warm,_ she thinks, tucking her hands under her arms.

She ponders on where to go, on where Jon might have gone. She thinks it’s likely he’s gone to the crypts, but if that’s the case, then Dany will see to her own desires. The dark and murky air of the crypts never fails to send a shiver down her spine, and in such darkness Dany has no desire to follow him.

But perhaps he’s in the godswood, she thinks hopefully. She’s heard that the godswood is a beautiful place, the white bark and the red leaves of the weirwood a sight to behold, but she hasn’t been able to find anyone who’s actually been in there. Mostly, people say it is a place reserved for the Stark’s. But Dany has a Stark lover, so surely that means her, too.

 _Besides,_ Dany thinks, starting her way over there, _I’m the queen. I can go where I want._

The godswood is . . . well, truthfully, it’s a disappointment. As most things up here have been.

And the white of the bark and the red of the leaves only serves to remind Dany of Sansa’s pale skin, or the red in her hair, and Dany can’t help but scowl at the weeping tree.

A woman’s laugh suddenly fills the air, bright and clear.

A woman? Out here at this time of night? Surely she must be lost. It’s so dreadfully cold out here, a lady can’t have meant to come out here on purpose.

Water splashing follows, and Dany suddenly remembers that people have also spoken of the hot springs hidden in the godswood. _Warmth,_ Dany thinks.

She could do with being warm again. It will soothe her dragon blood. She has been too cold for too long.

Surely whoever this woman is won’t mind if Dany joins her and whoever is with her.

As she makes her way through the trees, she comes across a discarded cloak, and then another, draped over the branches of the trees. A man’s tunic and undershirt joins the fray, and then his breeches, and then suddenly the edge of the spring’s are in sight and so is Sansa Stark’s beautiful blue dress.

Dany raises her brows at the sight, and peeks around the dress to see more of the clearing.

Indeed, Sansa Stark is sitting in the hot springs, her back to Daenerys, red hair piled atop her head and steam rising up around her. On the opposite side of the pool is just the man that Dany was looking for.

Jon Snow.

Instinctively, Dany hides herself. She moves to the side of Lady Stark’s dress, hiding herself behind the thick trunk of the tree that holds it. To the side of Sansa’s dress, Dany can spot a white shift blowing in the breeze.

Surely they’re not _naked,_ Dany thinks, slightly scandalised at the thought. That’s not proper.

And Dany thought that Sansa had beheld some trauma at the hands of men. Surely she wouldn’t undress herself so before a man, even if that man is her brother. Or especially if that man is her brother.

Dany isn’t sure which.

Laughter fills the air again, and Dany realises belatedly that it must have been Sansa that she heard laughing before.

Dany didn’t even know that Sansa _could_ laugh, she’s so dreadfully monotonous.

Truthfully, it’s a beautiful sound, and one that makes Dany turn to peek out at the two of them instead of either confront them or turn back to the castle.

With the initial shock of seeing them faded, she can notice more about them. Jon is sitting on what is obviously some kind of step within the water, facing Sansa and Dany, but he’s not exactly _close_ to Sansa. He’s on the opposite side of the pool, probably ten feet away.

From here, though, she can see his scars.

They have always ruined her perfect picture of him. The scars are ugly, and brutal, and she's never quite understood why they've haven't healed, even though she's heard that he'd gotten them a while ago. She's also heard that he got them as he died, but Dany doesn't believe such a story. The scars may be gruesome, but she's felt his heart beat beneath his skin. He can't have died. He is not of a special bloodline, not like she is.

Dany’s tongue rolls between her teeth as she moves her eyes away from him. She can’t really bear to look at them anymore. Every time they’ve coupled, their chests have been pressed together, and once he even took her while she was on all fours. She’s not had to stare at them like this before, and it discomforts her.

Dany is dismayed to find that Sansa’s back is covered in them, too. Small, silvery scars, mostly, but there’s one particularly big, red gash that runs from the top of her shoulder down to her waist. It doesn’t look like it was as deep as any of Jon’s, but it’s still long and awful to look at. For the first time, Dany is forced to wonder just what happened to Sansa Stark in her past. Those little scars could be from anyone, and Dany has a few of them herself, but that big one . . . it looks unspeakable.

“Mm, I think I want the wall to be . . . blue,” Sansa is saying, her hand skimming over the top of the water. “But not the blue of the sky, I want it to be a deep, beautiful blue.”

“Like your eyes,” Jon offers with a tender smile, and Dany’s stomach twists.

She’d hoped, gods she’d _hoped._ It seems too outrageous to think that _Jon_. . . and even Sansa, truthfully. By all accounts, she was kind, sweet girl in her youth, if extremely naïve, and even though she’s touted to be rather cold now, no one’s ever said she’s _debauched._

Not like this.

No, Dany knows first-hand that engaging in a relationship with a family member takes a certain kind of person, and the Stark’s hadn’t seemed to be it.

Appearances can be deceiving, Dany thinks scornfully. And apparently this pair are particularly good at deception.

Dany can’t believe she didn’t see this before. She’s thought Jon’s behaviour since returning to Winterfell a bit odd, but mostly she’d just put it down to being unused to being turned away from a man’s chambers. But Jon had struck her as a different sort of man, and she’d believed him when he’d said he was just too tired from the war preparations.

 _A different sort of man indeed,_ Dany thinks, her blood starting to rage white hot.

Drogon and Rhaegal had flown off earlier today, likely to find some food for themselves, and she’s felt her connection with them waning slowly as they have flown further away. She wishes it weren’t the case right now. She may have just saved these miserable Stark’s, but she’d still rain dragonfire down around them for this sleight. They don’t deserve her restraint, nor her mercy.

“That hadn’t been what I meant,” Sansa teases, and Dany wonders what it would be like to watch her skin melt from her bones. Would her hair match the flames?

“How am I to change the colour of our bedchamber?” Jon asks, tilting his head and raising a brow in a challenge.

 _Our,_ he’d said. _Our._

Dany is of half a mind to reveal herself and storm in to the clearing right this second, but she finds she’s rooted to the spot. The idea of surprising Jon and Sansa with a condemnation in the same way they’ve surprised her with this has also started to make itself feel rather appealing.

Oh, how she’d _love_ to walk right back into the Hall right now and tell every man and Lord in there that their _precious_ King and Lady are - . . . She can’t quite think the word, but she wants to spill to every last person in the North anyway. These people might just revolt against the pair themselves! If even _Dany_ is recoiling at the idea of their union, she can’t imagine what the Northerner’s would do.

It makes her fingers curl around the tree trunk so she can lean in and get a better look. She wants to see everything, know everything, wants all the proof she could possibly dream to have so that she can stand these two before the Lords in a trial and watch as they couldn’t possibly defend themselves.

It will the trial she was robbed of for Jaime Lannister.

They seem to have had more discussion in the moments that Dany was relishing over their inevitable demise, because suddenly Sansa stands from where she’s perched to wade over to Jon. She sits upon his lap, unknowingly exposing the curve of her bottom, and takes Jon’s face in her hands.

Dany can’t actually _see_ them kiss, not from this angle, but she knows that’s what they’re doing just because of the angle of Sansa’s head, and she _hates_ it, for so mean reasons, one of which is the curling pit in her stomach that she’s never experienced before; not like this.

Who does Sansa Stark think she _is?_

Dany knows without a doubt that this is a new development. They could not possibly have been together since before Jon met her on Dragonstone. She’d seen his distracted looks towards Dany herself.

. . . Hadn’t she?

“I wish we could stay out here for a thousand years,” Sansa says, lifting her mouth from Jon’s.

His wet hand slides down the arch of her back, and Dany’s lip curls. _She’d_ said that to him, by the waterfall. Dany had been dissatisfied with his pitiful _we’d be very old,_ and she hopes that Sansa will be now, too.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Jon corrects, bringing his sister’s face back to his again.

Dany is . . . jealousy is new for her. She’s never felt such white hot tingling in her stomach before. It’s so different from her anger, and yet so similar. It inspires the same desire to climb atop her dragon and show them once and for all who the mother of dragons truly is, but it makes her feel small, too.

Her mind is cast back to Dragonstone, because surely he had once shown her this level of devotion, of tenderness.

She scrambles to think of her own moment with him that resembles this, a time in which he’d willingly revealed his affection, or his thoughts, or anything at all, really. She remembers the frustration she’d harboured for him when he’d first arrived, how angry he made her with how stubborn he was. She remembers thinking he didn’t like her very much, and how very little she liked him; despite how hot he made her feel. But that hadn’t been his personality: that had been his full lips, the pretty slope of his cheekbone, the curl of his hair that she’d never seen on a man before; or anyone other than herself, really. Truthfully, Dany had never met a man quite as pretty as Jon Snow, and she’d wanted him because of it.

Her mind hadn’t changed until Tyrion. Until he’d said he’d noticed the way Jon looked longingly at her. She’d foolishly believed him then, because she’d wanted him to be right.

She’d also believed him when he said that Jon and Sansa didn’t get along, that Sansa was likely trying to usurp her brother, that the queen’s revenue would be walking into a power struggle.

Now, with Sansa grinding on Jon’s lap and the man himself groaning in a way he’d _never_ moaned for her, Dany can see for herself just how wrong Tyrion had been.

She should never have trusted that man. He’s led her astray time after time, in every way possible, on every _subject_ possible. She’s done with him. She’s done not listening to her own instincts. Her instincts are what brought her out here, where she has discovered this obscene truth, and Tyrion would _never_ have guessed this himself.

He see’s too much of himself in Jon, and thinks too little of Sansa. Or perhaps too _much_ of her; because letting her own brother pull her from the hot springs, set her on her hands and knees, and _fuck_ her in the snow . . . well. She’s no more than a common whore like this, moaning and encouraging. And with her brother, no less!

Dany hates looking at them, hates hearing them, and yet, she can’t leave. She can’t make her feet move either away or towards. She’s just stuck here, staring at them, watching as Jon takes Sansa like a dog and still speaks so sweetly.

It is not Sansa that deserves his words, it is Dany.

His _Sansa, sweetheart, you feel so good_ ’s and his, _I love you, so much, I can’t believe you’re alive_ ’s, and his, _yes, baby, let me feel that again, please, Sans_ ’s.

It is almost harder to bear when Jon flips Sansa around and finishes their coupling much more tenderly. He even spills inside his sister, and he’d _never_ done that for Dany. She’d asked him to, every single time, telling him she was barren, but he’d still refused. She’d never really liked the feeling of a man’s seed on her skin, but she’d put up with for so long it had been easy enough to let Jon do it.

How _dare_ he do that for Sansa? How dare he care so little he might get a child on his sister?

Strangely enough, after enduring all of this, of seeing the difference between his answer to Dany and to Sansa, watching him fuck his sister hard and then soft, there is one thing that truly angers Dany.

That pushes her to step out from the tree and confront them.

“When this is all over,” Jon says, and it sounds sweet and endearing as he holds Sansa in his arms, but Dany can still him clearly, “I want you to be my wife. My queen.”

Queen. His _queen._

Let these two fools have each other for what little time remains of their lives – because it surely won’t long, perhaps even as short as the amount of time it takes Drogon and Rhaegal to return – as she can withstand the betrayal that comes from being lied to by a lover. It is a brutal feeling, but she’s undergone worse.

But she will not – she will _not_ – have him even speak of making another woman queen.

There is only one queen of and in Westeros, and it will never be Sansa Stark.

Dany steps out from the shadows, chin titled high, and walks through the snow, hands clasped behind her back. She can’t let them see how much they’ve affected her, how upset she is. Jon and Sansa mean nothing to her, and she can’t let them think they do. Not when she’s so close to the Throne. Dany knows what people like them do to women like her.

Sansa catches sight of her first. Dany relishes in the alarm that flashes across Sansa’s face, even if it is hidden only a moment later. The red-haired girl’s fingers dip fiercely into the muscles of her brother’s back as she stares into Dany’s eyes.

Jon whips around a second later, pushing Sansa behind his back.

Dany narrows her eyes at them.

“My Lord Hand has been wrong about a lot of things since we arrived in Westeros,” Dany says coolly, her nails biting into her palm where they can’t see just how agitated she is, “but I think his understanding of the nature of your relationship must be his worst mistake yet.”

“Daenerys –“ Jon starts.

Dany cuts him off with a snarled, “ _Your Grace.”_

Sansa, eyes still trained intently on Dany’s own, rests her chin on Jon’s shoulder and starts to whisper into his ear.

Dany takes a step forward, the only betrayal of her calm so far, but Sansa doesn’t stop whispering until Jon lifts his hand to cover the one she has placed over his stomach.

Sansa stops saying whatever it is she was saying, and Dany raises an brow at her.

“I would think long and hard over your choices, Lady Stark,” Dany says. “After all, I seem to have just stumbled across a secret you should want to keep hidden.”

Sansa opens her mouth to spew whatever vitriol it is that she does to ensnare men like her brother into her trap, but Jon quiets her with a fierce glare when he turns his head. She glares back at him, and Dany sighs sharply, drawing their attention back to her.

“Am I boring you?” She demands of them.

“No, Your Grace,” Jon says, in a humble turn of voice that she recognises. It had fooled her for so long, but it doesn’t do so now. Not again. She won’t be made a fool of again. “I don’t know what you think you saw –“

Dany scoffs, insulted that he would try to lie to her.

“I saw everything,” Dany tells them. “I saw you couple, right here in public. I saw you say you love each other.”

Sansa raises her chin. “Are you a voyeur as well as a conqueror, then?”

“Sansa,” Jon says sharply, before Dany has the chance.

Lucky he did, too. Dany has never felt the desire to wrap her own hands around a persons neck, preferring instead to let her dragons dispense justice as she see’s it, but her dragons are not here, and Lady Stark is coming dangerously close to crossing a line.

She leans into Jon’s ear again, but she gets barely three words out before Dany see’s red.

“Enough!” She shouts, startling even herself. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to reign her temper in. “You would dare conspire as I stand right here? You would dare stand there after what you just did and think yourselves superior? I am a liberator, not a conqueror. And _you_ are a brother-fucker. _I_ have never committed as grave a sin as that.”

Sansa starts to laugh then, eyes wide, as she presses her palm into her mouth.

“ _Sansa,_ ” Jon hisses.

“I’m sorry,” Lady Stark says around a smile, and Dany has to fight all her better instincts. Oh, her rage feels so strong now that it must have reached Drogon and Rhaegal wherever they are. They must be on their way back. Dany feels satisfaction at the mere thought. She wants to stand in the flames, too, wants to be as close to Sansa and Jon as possible as they die from the might of her dragons. “It’s just – gods, it’s just too funny, Jon.”

“ _What’s_ funny?” Dany demands, taking another step towards them. Only a few more and she would be at the lip of the spring pool.

“Oh, it’s just - . . . _You?_ Lecturing us on incest? Your line is borne from it.”

“You cannot place sins on me that weren’t committed personally,” Dany says defiantly, hands clenched behind her back. “Just as my father’s crimes can’t be placed on my head, neither can my family’s history.”

“You mean crimes like burning people where they stand, Your Grace?” Jon asks, no humour or warning in his tone now. His face is pulled down darkly, and with the scars across his eyes, he looks like a true warrior. Not a knight, but a man who would cut you down where you stand if it meant victory.

Dany feels a thread of fear down her spine, something she has not felt in a long time. She has spent many years running away from this feeling, and she will not let these two inspire it in her now. She has come too far to let that happen.

She takes a deep breath. Dany has never been particularly good at diplomacy, which is why she has let such a wide group of advisors into her midst. They have failed her repeatedly though, as evidenced by this, but she can’t follow her first instinct currently. Dany may have easy access to the fury that keeps her going, but she’s not stupid. Jon’s sword lies against the tree, and he is much stronger than her.

She knows what men can do when under the spell of a beautiful woman. Dany is no match against him right now.

So she must try her hand at the diplomacy she has learnt.

“The choice I offer to those standing against me has no place in this discussion,” she says finally, keeping her voice firm. “And there seems to me to be a distinct difference to being borne to incest, for which I had no choice, and committing the act myself. It is true that in one life I would have married a brother, but that life was taken from me. You both are in no place to comment on it, I should think.”

Sansa steps out from behind Jon, baring herself shamelessly to Dany.

Dany has seen her on her hands and knees, being fucked by her brother, and yet the way Sansa holds her spine straight, pride in the set of her shoulders, still intimidates Dany.

Oh how she _hates_ the feeling.

Does Sansa know what Jon with Dany? Does she know that _he_ came to _her_ rooms first? Would it make her back down, if she knew her brother didn’t feel strongly enough for her to stay away from another woman’s bed? 

“I am Sansa Stark, and this is my home. You don’t frighten me.”

She needs Drogon and Rhaegal. Dany dares Sansa to say such a thing when two dragons are bearing down on her.

“Unfortunately, Daenerys, you have already shown your hand with this attempt at intimidation,” Sansa continues. She steps out of the pool, her skin steaming as the heat of her hits the cold air. Sansa does not shiver in this cold, does not seem to feel it at all, not like Dany does. Even now, Dany’s toes feel frozen in her boots. “But I needn’t waste my breath explaining it to you.”

Jon is watching Sansa warily, his eyes trained on her as she circles the pool to stand before Dany.

Dany’s breath is misting in the air between them, and Sansa smirks down at her as she notices that the frequency of her breathing picks up.

“Are you frightened, Daenerys?” Sansa questions quietly. “I would understand if you were. I too have stood in someone else’s home and known deep in my bones that I do not belong. That I should be in my own home. If I offered you the chance to go quietly back to Dragonstone, would you take it?”

Dany juts her chin out further, trying to smooth her features into the same icy veneer that adorns Sansa’s face.

“Dragonstone is no more my home than Essos,” Dany says, trying to remain indifferent. “I intend to make a home in King’s Landing.”

“On the backs of people who don’t want you,” Sansa observes. She circles behind Dany calmly, and Dany spins around to watch her, feeling distinctly like she is being taken for prey. Dany is not prey; she is the predator. She is the dragon, not the sheep.

But Sansa just goes over to the tree that has her clothes laid over it.

“They don’t know me,” Dany defends, though it doesn’t come out as strong as she wants it to. It is the terrible this; this godswood reserved for Starks. It is making her feel weak, and she is not weak. “But once they understand what I am here to do, they will love me.”

Sansa pulls her shift on over her head, then picks up her blue dress from the branch. As she steps into it, she says, “Love does not come simply from understanding. It comes from actions. And your actions have not proven anything to anyone.”

“They –“

“No, I lie,” Sansa interrupts contemplatively as she pushes her arms into her sleeves. Dany grits her teeth at having been interrupted. “They’ve proven some things.”

Dany doesn’t know what to say, and before she can think of something, Sansa turns to Jon.

“Jon, my love, come get dressed. I think we’ve got a much more exciting evening ahead of us than originally planned.”

“If by exciting you mean it may be your last night alive, then you are correct,” Dany interjects, trying to take the power back, trying to make _them_ be the ones to cower. To prove her point, she then bluffs, “My dragons are already on their way here. You will stand before them and face the justice that they serve.”

Sansa’s eyes narrow and suddenly she is standing right before Dany. Dany takes a stumbled step back, noticing yet again just how _tall_ Sansa is, and her foot wobbles dangerously over the lip of the springs.

“Do you know how to swim, Your Grace?” Sansa asks coldly, taking another step forward. Dany can’t step back any further, and an inexplicable terror fills her veins from the ice that is on the taller woman’s face. Dany has never felt like her own height is something that is a hinderance to her, but then, she doesn’t usually face her foes on even ground. Dany’s uneven footing does not help, and neither does the fact that the answer is no.

Dany doesn’t know how to swim.

“Sansa,” Jon says cautiously, slowly coming closer to the pair of them, as naked as Sansa had just been. “Let’s go back to castle now, darling, please.”

Sansa’s gaze breaks from Dany’s to look over to her brother. They stare at each for several long moments, their eyes hard, but it is Sansa who softens first.

“Back to the castle,” Sansa agrees with a soft smile. “I’ll go ahead.”

Their gaze turns more meaningful now, but Dany doesn’t know why. Sansa turns on her heel, with no permission nor even final glance at Dany, and disappears into the trees.

Now alone with Jon, Dany knows that she can make him see reason. He felt something for her once, she knows he must have. Dany knows better than to fall back into his bed, as he is obviously fickle at best and disloyal and untrustworthy at worst, but perhaps she can trick him for now. One last final victory over Sansa before the pair of them burn together.

“Thank you, Jon,” Dany says, placing her hand on his arm. “I hoped that you would see reason.”

“See reason?” He repeats, ripping his arm from her grip. Dany’s stomach feels heavy. “Aye, I see reason. I see you for who you truly are, Daenerys, and I may not let you die right this second but I will show you no leniency. Not after you kept me prisoner on Dragonstone. Not after you weren’t willing to stand in the line of defence unless it served your cause.”

“It was not _my_ responsibly to fight off _your_ enemy,” Dany rebuts furiously, knowing that to be true. 

“No, but it was your duty to defend those lands which you claim are your own,” Jon says, just as much heat to his words. She wonders from where it came. He has always been so monotonous, so hard to break through. She has never seen such passion on his face before.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He’d worn his emotions very plainly on his face while he’d just been with Sansa. 

Furiously, Jon continues, “So are you the queen of the North, or are you not, Daenerys? You can’t be both.”

“Why should I sacrifice my men for a cause that has nothing to do with me?” Dany questions just as heatedly as he tugs his clothes back on. They are scattered down the path, too, and Dany follows after him, her steps harsh against the snow. Dany has lost almost all her army to fight here, and now she is still left startingly bereft in the face of her march south.

She knows who is to blame for it; and if she could go back in time, she would not make that sacrifice again.

“Because it is the right thing!” Jon huffs, pulling his shirt on. His leather tunic follows, and then his sword belt is strapped to his waist.

Somehow, this answer makes her more mad.

“Men don’t commit acts because they are the right thing,” Dany scoffs, knowing how true it is. “So why should I?”

“I thought you were supposed to be different,” Jon says bitterly, and Dany almost misses a step. “I thought you were supposed to be breaking the wheel or whatever bullshit it is that you say.”

Dany’s mouth parts once, twice, confused, at first, by what he’s saying.

She _is_ different. She just hasn’t had a chance to prove it. Apparently, not even to him. She just needs to get on the Throne. Once she is there, they will see. They will all see.

“I must first get to the top before I can truly change the way things are.”

Jon scoffs, hand falling to the pommel of his sword. Dany eyes it warily, wondering where this is going. “And who cares about the people that die along the way?”

“Sacrifice is necessary for a great cause,” Dany insists. She is under no impressions that this will not be a costly war. She will hold these inevitable deaths in her heart until the day she dies, but she cannot take the Throne without causalities. They are the truth of war.

“And that is your decision to make? You get to play god and decide who lives and dies?”

Dany shakes her head at him. He so misunderstands her point; what her cause is. She doesn’t understand how he can see it like that. It’s almost as if he’s never witnessed war, never seen the casualties that come from a good cause.

His own family have suffered so immensely under the Lannisters! He should want them disposed at any cost, just like she does. 

Jon’s hand closes around her elbow suddenly, and she tries to rip her arm from his grip but it is strong about her. He starts to lead her towards the castle, and she would fight harder if he were dragging her. He is gentle enough, however strong his grip is, so she lets him.

She _does._ He is _not_ controlling her.

“You’ve fought countless battles,” Dany rebukes finally, trying to make him see sense. She feels so hopeless, like his ignorance is a stain upon her just because she is in proximity to him. She has experienced a lot of anti-progressive sentiment in her life, and still it stings no less each time she faced with it. “Thousands of men died in the Battle of the Bastards.”

“They came because I _asked._ They were not civilians left to starve in their beds because there is no food.”

Dany shakes her head, wondering why that matters. Especially when she knows how Lady Stark has floundered in that respect. “Yes, and your _sister_ did a valiant job preparing food herself. Tell me, was there enough for us when we arrived?”

“It wasn’t her responsibly to feed the _queen’s_ army,” Jon snaps. He pauses, then goes quiet, suddenly. Finally. Dany wonders what she said to make him see reason. “And she is not my sister.”

Dany stumbles over her own feet. Jon catches her, righting her in place as he looks at her with unreadable eyes.

“Not your sister?” Dany asks, staring up at him with a frown. She doesn’t know where he is going with this, but that he would lie just to squirm his way out of facing the truth . . . He is less honourable than she thought.

“She’s my cousin,” Jon reveals easily, as if that is not important information. “And you are my aunt.”

Dany feels light headed, suddenly. Her anger doesn’t disappear, in fact is only heightened, but she is confused, too. He has said it with such a straight face, as if the lie means nothing to him.

 _He has lied before,_ she thinks. _He has lied to me for months._

“What do you mean?” She whispers, unable to make her voice any louder.

“Rhaegar was my father. He and Lyanna married and had me.”

No. No, no, no, no, _no._

That can’t be true. There is no _way_ that . . . Oh, but everyone always said Rhaegar was a good and kind man. She likes the idea that he did not abduct and rape Lyanna, but loved her instead.

But if what Jon say’s is true, then . . .

“You have a claim to the Throne.”

“No,” he replies darkly, brows furrowing at her. “I don’t. The Targaryen’s were overthrown. I have no more of a claim than you do.”

“The Targaryen’s were _usurped,”_ Dany argues furiously. “Stabbed while our back was turned. We are the rightful rulers.”

Jon quirks a brow at her. “So I do have a better claim than you?” He asks, and suddenly Dany realised what she’s said.

If the Targaryen’s have a claim to the Throne, then Jon is first in line.

That can’t be true. No, he is a liar. She knows he is a liar. She has seen it tonight. He is a sinful, honourless liar, and he does not deserve her mercy, nor even the breath she spares for this conversation.

Jon tugs on her arm again, and Dany mindlessly follows, still reeling from this revelation. Her head is starting to ache from all that she’s learnt this evening.

“So you see now why Sansa was laughing?” Jon says, pulling Dany from her thoughts.

“What?” She asks, her tongue dry in her mouth, unable to resist the bait.

“Because you’re my aunt,” he explains slowly. “You threw accusations at us and then claimed yourself not committing any sins.”

Dany feels like she wants to retch. That Sansa would _laugh_ at her, because she knew something Dany didn’t . . .

No, this just won’t stand.

“Did you know the whole time?” Dany demands, before she can stop herself. “Have you and she been plotting this?”

Jon goes quiet for a long moment. “No,” he finally admits. “I only found out when I returned to Winterfell.”

Dany bares her teeth into snarl. “You expect me to believe you?”

Jon sighs with exasperation. “Then why did you _ask?”_

“I thought you might still have some honour left,” Dany says. She knows how much that meaningless notion means to him.

“It is only due to our honour that you are alive,” Jon says, stopping abruptly to tug her around to face him. His eyes are dark upon hers, and she sees nothing but hardness in them.

Dany knows, suddenly, that it was always with this expression he has looked upon her. She had mistaken it for desire for a long time. Had been _told_ it was desire for a long time.

But she can see it for what it is now. And she can see the truth of this situation now, too.

No, she was never walking into a power struggle between Jon and Sansa. She was walking into a _plot._

But they have underestimated her.

After all, her dragons will back soon. And then they will be sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Or are they ..?? ;) 
> 
> Ok, shameless self promotion time. You perhaps saw me [announce this on Tumblr,](https://ladyalice101.tumblr.com/post/190449315401/kit-haringtons-movies-ranked-worst-to-best) BUT I have started a YouTube channel! It will be for movie analyses mostly, but I have a couple other fun things planned. My first video was a [ranking of all of our baby Kit's films,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBbJaPsOFu0) and I have a [condensed version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fUswOCXWqk), too, for if you don't have 50 minutes to watch a deep dive. It does mean I'll likely be uploading a little less frequently, but perhaps you'll be endeared enough by my stunning and charming personality to not care so much ;) haha, but in all seriousness, I'd very much appreciate if you took a moment to give it a look! And who knows, you might even enjoy it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and I can't wait to see what you think of this one! Dany is a tough cookie to crack, so I'd love to hear your thoughts <3 x


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